


Deterioration

by Animal_Arithmetic



Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [10]
Category: Supernatural, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Outed, Panic Attacks, Seizures, heatstroke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animal_Arithmetic/pseuds/Animal_Arithmetic
Summary: Geralt has a seizure because of a heatstroke.Jaskier doesn't handle it well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614880
Comments: 22
Kudos: 564





	Deterioration

Jaskier was just finishing making lunch—just simple sandwiches, since it was too hot out to cook anything—when the phone rang. Dean, the sweet dear, answered it. The two boys were out in the living room curled on opposite ends of the couch, each enjoying their own book to keep out of the July heat. 

Speaking of books, he thought with a frown down at the sandwich before him, they needed to start thinking about school, soon. It was Dean’s last year of high school and they would need to start thinking about college soon, too. 

Jeez. When had his babies grown up?

“Mom?” Dean was standing in the doorway, phone in hand and looking scared. “It’s the lumber yard. Stella says it’s an emergency.”

What?

Jaskier took the phone from him, frowning and very confused. “Hello? This is Jaskier.”

“Jaskier!” Stella’s voice was thin and tinny. “There’s been—There’s an ambulance coming for Geralt. He—Ted said he just dropped and had a seizure. Probably from heatstroke, Ted thinks. Jaskier, I’m—Can you get to the hospital?” 

What? Geralt had a—a seizure? Geralt wasn’t supposed to be able to get sick or anything. His mutations weren’t supposed to allow it. 

“A—A seizure?” He asked, hating how shaky his voice sounded. Dean stared at him, eyes wide and hand gripping the doorframe tight. Jaskier felt like he wanted to faint. “Stella, are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” Stella didn’t sound much better. “Ted came rushing in, saying to call an ambulance and said—and Mark is going to ride in with him but—Jaskier, do you need someone to pick you up?”

Fear gripped his vocal chords. Stella’s words didn’t even register in his mind. Geralt? Having a seizure? That was impossible. Geralt—

Shit. Geralt couldn’t go to the hospital. They’d find out about the mutations, that he wasn’t quite human anymore. They’d want to quarantine him, study him—

He wanted to stop Geralt from going to the hospital. But at the same time, he knew Geralt _needed_ to go. Seizures were dangerous, and so was heatstroke. 

Fuck. 

“I—“

The phone was ripped from his hands. Or maybe it fell, he wasn’t sure. But the room was spinning and the air was too thin and then strong hands were on his upper arms, guiding him down into a chair. He could hear Dean, faintly, speaking to someone. 

“Mom!” 

Something slapped him—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shake him out of his panic. He looked up—Dean was just so tall—or maybe it was because he was sitting—when had he sat?—

Dean slapped him again. “Breathe! It’s gonna be okay, mom. Sammy is getting our lunch and some books. What else do you want us to grab?”

“I...” What did they need? They needed—He needed— “There’s—paperwork. I need it so I can be in the room with him. I’m his—his power of attorney. We need to—“

“Where is it? I’ll grab it.”

“The—the filing cabinet in our closet.” Jaskier let out a shaky breath, just noticing how his entire body trembled. “It’s labeled.”

Dean left, hurrying to his task. Behind him, Sammy was stuffing a grocery bag with—oh, good boy. He had wrapped the sandwiches and everything. He kept looking up at Jaskier every few moments, but Jaskier wasn’t sure what to say. 

He needed to get a grip on himself. The boys were sure to be scared, with how he was acting and all. But he couldn’t get his hands to stop shaking. 

“What else do you need me to do, mom?” Sammy asked, suddenly standing in front of Jaskier. 

Jaskier took a deep breath to calm himself. He needed to get a grip. “Can you call your uncle Bobby and uncle Crowley, sweet pea? Let Bobby know we’re going to the hospital and we’ll call with updates? But please ask Crowley to meet us at the hospital?”

Sammy looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t, instead biting out a quick, “Yeah. I can do that,” before scampering off for the address book. 

Dean came in, holding up a folder. “Is this what you wanted?”

Jaskier took a brief look through it—he’d recognize the stupid thing anywhere. They’d done it a few years ago, figuring that was the closest to married rights as they could get and they had been using it in place of their marriage certificate after their little ceremony. They each had complete and total power of attorney for each other. They’d never had to use it for Geralt, yet. They had figured they never _would_ need to.

“Yeah, baby,” Jaskier finally replied, hating how choked he sounded. “Yeah, you did perfect. Sammy’s just calling uncle Bobby and Crowley and then we’ll go, okay?”

Dean bobbed his head, gently urging Jaskier to stand. “Let’s get you in the car, then.”

It was on shaky legs that Jaskier was able to get out to the car with Dean’s guiding hand on his back and his other hand gripping his elbow to help him from tripping in his haste to the car. Dean sat him in the passenger seat, glaring when Jaskier tried to protest and looking pointedly down at his trembling hands. Jaskier only conceded because he felt like throwing up.

As it was, he hardly paid attention to the trip. Between one blink and the next, they were suddenly parked at the hospital and Dean was helping him out of the car. Sammy trailed behind, dutifully holding their bags of goods.

The receptionist was very kind, pointing them to the ER and letting them know that Geralt had only arrived a few moments before. The receptionist there told them they had to wait while Geralt was being assessed, but she also took the POA paperwork and made a copy for Geralt’s file. While they waited for the assessment to finish, Dean made Jaskier eat a little, telling him, “It’ll make you feel better, mom.”

Jaskier wouldn’t let the smug fucker know that he was _right_.

Finally— _finally_ —they were told Geralt was being moved to the hospital proper. A nurse took them up to his room. Geralt was alone in his room, the other bed empty so far.

Geralt was not a small man. His bulk made him seem large and powerful. The bed was almost comically small in comparison to his bulky frame.

The wires and tubes coming out of him, however, made him look very vulnerable.

Geralt wasn't supposed to look vulnerable. Not like this.

Jaskier collapsed into the seat. Gently, he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “Oh, my love,” he whispered into his hairline. “Please, _please_ be okay. I couldn’t bear it at all if I were to lose you again.”

With a gentle touch, he ran a hand down Geralt’s bare chest. There was only a light sheet covering from his waist to his knees, likely to keep him modest while they tried to cool him down. His feet were raised slightly and there were ice packs at various points around his body.

“It’s gonna be okay, mom.”

And that was when Jaskier just _lost_ it. He started sobbing uncontrollably, gripping Geralt’s bedsheets instead of him in fear of hurting him worse. He bent forward, sobbing into his knees. He knew he was blubbering, knew he was speaking incoherently, but he just couldn’t _understand_. Geralt wasn’t supposed to be sick! He was immortal, was supposed to die fighting some monster! Not because of a _seizure_!

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“ _Geralt_.” Jaskier’s sobbing redoubled when he heard his love’s voice. It was weak and thin, but he was _awake_ and _alive_. Jaskier surged forward to press a needy kiss to his lips, still minding all the wires and tubes coming out of Geralt.

“Oh,” said a small voice at the doorway.

Fuck.

Shit fucking fuck.

He’d forgotten that Mark would be there, too.

Biting his lip, Jaskier turned to see Mark standing in the doorway. He looked stunned, for the most part. A little angry, perhaps.

Shit. He had seriously fucked up.

“So you’re...?”

“My husband,” Geralt croaked pitifully. “We had a private ceremony a few years ago.”

“Oh. When you’d asked for that extended vacation?”

“Yes. For our ‘honeymoon’.”

“Not recognized by the law, o’ course.”

“No.”

Mark looked a little hurt and Jaskier was thrown by the whiplash of just—everything. “Why didn’tcha tell me?”

Geralt frowned back at his boss. “Because I didn’t want the ridicule or for you to fire me.”

“I wouldn’t...” Mark sighed, ruffling his dark hair and looking away. “I understand, I s’pose. I get it. I’m hurt that ya couldn’t feel like ya could trust me, but I get it. I’m not gonna fire ya, Geralt. I just wantcha to be okay.” He sighed again, then smiled at Jaskier and the boys. “Ya take care of ‘im, ya hear? Make ‘im take the month off to rest. You’ll still get pay, don’tcha worry.” To Jaskier, he added, “Lemme know if ya need anythin’, okay? Doc said might take a couple of months for a full recovery, so just let me know if ya need anythin’ and me an’ the boys and Stella will help ya out.”

And with that, he left.

It was quiet for a moment as they processed what had just happened.

“So that happened,” said Dean.

Sam started giggling. With the tension released, he finally sat in one of the chairs and cracked open his book. Jaskier figured it was because he didn’t want to hear the boring grownup talk.

It wasn’t long after that that the doctor came in to lessen Jaskier’s fears. No, Geralt wasn’t in danger of dying. Yes, Geralt had to stay for a few days for observation and to make sure he wouldn’t have another seizure or any other complications. No, they _really_ just needed to monitor him to make sure he didn’t have any more seizures because of the heatstroke or if he would have any other complications. Tests so far had said he was okay, for the most part, and there was nothing too abnormal in their tests so far. They were mostly just waiting for his temperature to come down.

“Unfortunately,” she said with a wince, “visiting hours end at seven. But you’re welcome to come back at eight in the morning. If anything happens, we’ll give you a call.”

She left, then, bypassing Crowley who stepped in, sneer firmly in place.

“Hello, Geralt.”

Geralt, apparently, didn’t have the energy to challenge the bait like usual. But one stern look from Jaskier cowed Crowley enough that he tugged on the lapels of his suit jacket.

“I assume you wanted me here for some deplorable reason,” Crowley sneered.

Jaskier raised a single eyebrow. Crowley grimaced, but otherwise kept his other smart remarks to himself. “Yes,” Jaskier replied. “I need you to make sure Geralt’s tests are human enough that they won’t question it and figure out what’s really going on.”

“And why would I—Alright, alright.” Crowley raised his hands in surrender when Jaskier had taken a single step towards him. “No need to get vicious. I’ll do it.”

Honestly, Jaskier still didn’t... really understand how or why he had so much power over demons, but it was still the funniest thing he had ever seen. Especially when Crowley turned tail and practically sprinted from the room to do as Jaskier had bid. And that time Geralt accidentally got almost all the demons out of the northeast states just by mentioning him once.

Ah. Well.

An hour or two later, Crowley was back with a weird frown. “Are you... sure he’s not human?”

Geralt was asleep again, but Dean and Sam sat up at the question. Jaskier frowned, confused. “I mean, he’s like eight hundred something years old. They mutated him so much to make him into a Witcher. He’s not—He hasn’t been human since he was a small child.”

Crowley slowly shook his head. “All his tests look human enough to me. Some odd numbers, but that could be because of the seizure and heatstroke. But he’s—He’s human, Jaskier. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I have Hell to run.”

Jaskier paid him no mind as he turned to face Geralt to think. No longer a Witcher? What did that mean? Were the mutations breaking down, turning him human again? How long had that been happening? Looking closer, however, Jaskier could sort of see the age lines that hadn’t been there when they had reconnected in his second (as far as he knew) life. Crow’s feet and little wrinkles lined his face, but not nearly enough to be totally noticeable. His hair was white already, so there weren’t any hints there.

But...

Did that mean that he was dying?


End file.
